


Postcards from the Past

by Melymels



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melymels/pseuds/Melymels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their latest number is someone from Harold's past, it puts both Finch and Reese in danger. Finch is forced to share some of his past and Reese faces his worst nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Postcards from the Past

Chapter 1

“Well Harold,” John Reese pronounced drolly as he brushed the dust from his black suit jacket, looking down at the semi-conscious form of their latest number, “I don’t think Simon Porter is going to be causing his business partner any more problems.”

“Well done, Mr Reese.” Harold Finch’s articulate voice sounded through John’s earpiece; the earpiece which kept him in almost constant contact with his partner during the times they were apart. “I think you deserve some well-earned rest before we receive our next number.” John had to admit, after the constant stream of numbers they’d had over the last few weeks, he was ready for some downtime. 

An hour later, John let himself into his loft apartment only to be accosted by Bear launching himself at his master in enthusiastic greeting. John tussled with the dog for a few moments in recognition of his apparent neglect. 

“He misses you when you’re gone all day.” John looked up to see Finch standing at the stove in his kitchen, no jacket, his shirt sleeves rolled up. “Maybe you should take him with you sometimes.” Harold continued.

“It’s difficult to hide a dog when you’re tailing someone Finch!” John laughed as he joined Harold in the kitchen, coming up behind him to look over his shoulder and see what was cooking. “And I like the fact that he’s with you when I’m not there” he said more seriously as he leaned into Harold’s back and rested his chin on his shoulder, snaking his arms around the billionaire’s waist. “How was your day, dear?” he continued cheekily.

Harold smiled and leaned back into John’s embrace. John nuzzled his partner’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of the man who’d come to mean more to him than he cared to admit. He loved the way Harold smelled, a mixture of good cologne, chocolate and mint. “I missed you today,” he admitted, “we’ve been so busy recently we’ve hardly had any time to ourselves.” He placed soft kisses over Harold’s neck and cheek, drinking in his unique taste.

“Hmm, I know” Harold groaned, “but don’t start something you can’t finish Mr Reese.”

“Who says I can’t finish Harold?” John responded, a smile in his voice as he stroked keen hands up the planes of Harold’s chest. He loosened his tie and the smooth silk slid through his fingers and shivered to the floor. 

Harold grasped the edge of the counter tightly as Reese continued the assault on his clothing, undoing the buttons of his vest and shirt. “The dinner…” Harold choked.

“…can wait.” John reached round and turned the stove off. 

When Harold’s vest and shirt were unbuttoned, he turned in John’s embrace, reaching his arms up and around Reese’s neck. Their mouths met hungrily, their lips moving together in an exotic dance. Harold’s lips parted and John accepted the invitation, dipping his tongue into the warm depths. John reached up and gently removed Harold’s glasses, placing them safely on the counter before returning his attention to Harold’s mouth. The billionaire’s hands slowly traced down John’s spine until they reached his toned ass. Harold squeezed and kneaded, the sensation travelling straight to John’s cock. The younger man made an indecipherable sound and brought both hands up to bracket Harold’s face, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss before pushing Harold’s shirt and vest off his shoulders. The clothes landed in a puddle at their feet and John knew that if Harold wasn’t so distracted, he would have lectured his partner on the careless treatment of his wardrobe. As it was, Harold obviously had other things on his mind.

John ran one hand over Harold’s chest, his questing fingers finding a pert nipple pushing up against his undershirt. He brushed the pad of his thumb over the nipple back and forth, enjoying the sound Harold made with each pass, before switching his attention to the other. Soon both nipples were pebble hard and begging for more attention which John was more than happy to oblige. He pulled Harold’s undershirt over his head and let it join the other items of clothing strewn on the floor. He dipped his head and latched his mouth onto one hungry nipple, stroking and teasing the other with dextrous fingers.

“John…” Harold breathed, his hands roaming up and down the former operative’s back. The sound of John’s name on Harold’s lips made his stomach flutter with pleasure.

Suddenly, Harold was grabbling desperately at John’s clothes, as if he could no longer stand to have any barriers between them. He pulled at John’s jacket and shirt until John thought he’d rip them. Reese loved that he had that effect on Harold. The reclusive man was always so careful, so measured, so in control. The fact that John could make him lose control was a powerful aphrodisiac to the former agent. 

“It’s okay Harold.” John soothed as he removed his own jacket and shirt. 

Finally both shirtless, they rubbed against each other, chest to chest, and John revelled in the sensation of rough hair and smooth skin against his sensitive nipples. He reached down to undo Finch’s trousers, pushing them impatiently down his hips before loosening his own trousers and letting them slip to his ankles. Harold’s arousal brushed up against his own through the thin layers of their underwear and scorching heat pulsed between them, like sparks of electricity. John moaned. It was too much and not enough, and his cock leaked as it pressed urgently against his partner’s, seeking release. He reached between them, freeing their cocks from the confines of their boxer shorts. He grasped Harold’s hot, throbbing erection in a firm grip and pulled, twisting his hand slightly as he worked from root to tip. Harold moaned and thrust into his hand, silently begging for more as Harold’s own hand found John’s cock.

They worked each other slowly, torturously as their mouths latched on to any available skin. John sucked hard on Harold’s shoulder whilst Harold laved his ear with a wet, questing tongue. John shuddered as goose-bumps broke the surface of his skin.

“John…so close…” Harold gasped and started to thrust harder and faster into John’s fist. John quickened his pace, and Finch followed suit, increasing the tempo of his own strokes. Reese could feel the tension build in his body, coalescing into a knot of pure energy. He held his breath as he teetered on the precipice and then he was falling. As he fell, the energy burst forth and he cried out, pleasure exploding into every pore of his being. Dimly, he heard Harold’s cry as he too found his release.

John gasped for breath, his head resting on his partner’s shoulder. Harold sagged limply in his arms, propped up between John and the kitchen counter, his eyes closed and a dazed expression on his face.

“Wow. I guess it has been a while.” John smiled sheepishly.

“Indeed.” Harold mumbled back, clearly too lethargic to expound further.

***************************************************************  
Harold sat in shock as he studied the picture of their latest number displayed on his computer screen. It was inevitable, he mused, that at some point his past would catch up with him. He’d hoped it would remain buried forever. 

Charles Sutherland. He hadn’t heard that name for a long time, hadn’t seen him for even longer. He could still recall the classic good looks, the thick wavy hair, deep brown eyes and square jawline of his former adversary. The photo he was looking at now was much more recent than his memories, but the man had aged well and would still be regarded as handsome. 

Finch’s sigh echoed through the musty book stacks of the abandoned library as he debated with himself over what to do. If he told Reese that he knew their latest number, John would want to know more and Harold wasn’t sure he was ready to share that painful part of his past. The truth was, he was embarrassed. He’d been drawn to Charles from the moment they’d met, charmed by his humour and wit. The man had been so self-assured and popular, not to mention the fact that he was gorgeous, and Harold had enjoyed spending time with him. He’d deluded himself that Charles liked him, flattered by his attention. But when Charles turned on him, it had been devastating. It was only through the friendship and support of Nathan Ingram that Harold was able to put it all behind him.

And now Charles’s number had come up. There was no doubt in Finch’s mind that he would have to help the man, in the same way that they helped all their numbers. The question was how to help him without having to tell John who he was. Finch wasn’t sure what John would do if he knew about Harold and Charles’s history and he didn’t want to find out.

The best thing to do, Harold decided, was to gather as much information as possible and identify any obvious threats which might explain why Charles’s number had been selected. Armed with that information, he’d be in a better position to come up with a plan.

It was time to do a bit of research. Charles had an office downtown out of which he operated his consultancy business. Harold glanced at his watch – 8am. Charles would more than likely be on his way to work by now. That would give Harold the opportunity to have a look around his apartment.

“Come on Bear,” he picked up the dog’s leash and clipped it on to Bear’s collar, “time for a bit of fieldwork.”

***********************************************************************  
The library was dark and quiet, almost desolate, when Reese arrived carrying a green tea for Harold, a coffee for himself and a box of donuts for them both. He’d expected Harold to be busy at his computer as usual, but his eccentric billionaire was nowhere to be seen. John had reluctantly left Harold at his loft earlier to take care of his morning workout, the glow of their recent lovemaking still pulsing through his veins. Harold had told John he was going straight to the library, so where was he? 

John scouted around the dimly lit labyrinth, checking the various rooms and between the stacks piled high with Harold’s beloved books. Worry prickled his consciousness. He hated it when he didn’t know where Harold was, especially when he expected his partner to be safe and sound at the library. Harold had been in harm’s way too many times. John tried hard to keep the billionaire safe but, in their line of work, it wasn’t always possible and no matter what precautions he took, it was never enough.

Taking a deep breath to calm the bubble of fear starting to form in his gut, he pulled out his cell phone to call Finch. It was answered after six rings. “Hello John” Harold’s voice sounded strange to John’s sensitive ears, calm but tense at the same time, as if he were trying to sound normal but failing.

“Harold, where are you? Are you okay?” John aimed for casual but feared that he probably sounded anxious and desperate. 

“I’m fine Mr Reese.” Harold slipped into his protective cloak of formality. “It seems that a personal matter has arisen which I need to take care of, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you shortly. I’m sorry - I should have called to let you know.” 

“Is there something I can help you with?” John asked, concerned.

“No, I can deal with this myself, no need to worry.” Harold cut in, too quickly.

“Okay Finch but if you’re not back here in the next hour, I’m coming to find you.”

“I have to go John.” Harold disconnected the call before John could respond.

Now he was really worried. Although Harold liked think he was a closed book, John knew him - he was the foremost expert in Harold Finch. He’d spent hours following him, watching him, listening to him. He’d learned his mannerisms, his personality traits, his likes and dislikes. And he knew every inflection in Harold’s voice. Harold had sounded upset, stressed. Something was wrong and John was going to find out what it was. 

Could it be Root? Could she be back? It was a possibility. John had sworn to himself after he’d rescued Harold from Root’s clutches that she would never get to him again, and he’d meant it. If Root had anything to do with this then she’d be sorry. And if she did hurt Harold, well, she wouldn’t live long enough to regret it.

John logged into the computer and brought up the cell-phone GPS tracking software which they frequently used in their pursuit of the numbers. He was sure it would be a fruitless endeavour as Harold often disabled the GPS on his cell so that he couldn’t be tracked, but he had to try anyway. Unfortunately, this time was no exception. John growled in frustration. How was he supposed to protect his partner when he made it impossible to find him? He was going to have a serious conversation with Finch when he returned. This couldn’t happen again. John had to be able to track Finch, to locate him, in case something was to happen. It was simply the prudent thing to do in their line of work. And if it also satisfied John’s need to know where Harold was at all times, well that was nobody’s business but his own. 

“Where’ve you been?” A clearly annoyed John asked Harold as he entered the library an hour later, Bear in tow. 

“I told you, I had a personal matter to take care of.” Harold dissembled.

“What sort of personal matter?” John pressed.

“That isn’t any of your business Mr Reese.”

“It is my business Finch!” John argued, exasperated. “It’s my job to protect you and I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are or what you’re doing!” Now Harold was here in front of him, safe and sound, John’s fear had rapidly turned to anger and he struggled to keep his frustration in check.  
“It isn’t your job to protect me John. It’s your job to protect the numbers.” Harold reasoned, defensiveness giving his tone a sharp edge.

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s the same thing.”

“What do you mean?” Harold sounded puzzled.

“If something happens to you Harold, I won’t care about the numbers. I told the machine when Root took you and I’m telling you now, I won’t do this without you. So you’d better make sure you take care of yourself if you want me to take care of the numbers.” 

John took a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m sorry, I just…don’t disappear like that on me again Finch, you know I worry.” John tried to sound conciliatory.

“I’m sorry too. I do know that you worry John. I can’t promise that I’ll never do it again, but I will do my best.” Finch stepped into John’s personal space and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s waist, resting his head on his shoulder. John sighed again and pulled Harold close, revelling in the feel of him, warm and alive, in his arms. He wanted to hold him like this forever.

************************************************************  
Wisps of steam drifted lazily upwards from Harold’s mug as he stared into its depths, lost in thought. John was sitting near the window cleaning one of his many weapons, seemingly oblivious to Finch’s distraction. But Finch knew the operative was tuned in to him, watching and waiting, fully aware that something was amiss. 

Harold’s search of Sutherland’s home had not yielded any relevant data. There’d been no damning evidence or smoking gun to be found. The loft itself was well presented, clean and tidy and tastefully decorated. But it lacked personal touches. There were no photographs or other private items. Everything in the apartment could have been put there by a well-paid interior designer, as if Charles was more interested in portraying an image than making a home. He obviously hasn’t changed over the years, Harold mused. The man had always liked to be the best and have the best of everything, designer clothes, fast cars and beautiful friends. Harold should have realised when Charles started pursuing him that he had an ulterior motive. Harold simply didn’t fit into the image Charles had created for himself. Maybe deep down he’d realised that Charles was only interested in using him, but he’d wanted to pretend it was something else. He’d never imagined that it would end so catastrophically. 

Since there was nothing at Charles’s apartment to indicate why he’d been flagged by the machine, Harold had done a bit of digging back at the library and had found information to suggest that Charles’s consultancy business was involved in some highly suspect activities. He needed to access Charles’s office to find out more, but time was running out. The threat to Charles could materialise at any moment and Harold couldn’t leave him unprotected for too long. Maybe it was time to tell John? 

Harold baulked at the idea, uncomfortable about John knowing. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his partner, he trusted him with his life, but he’d spent most of his life keeping secrets and it was a hard habit to break. He was afraid that if he let John in, if he let him see the real Harold, the former operative wouldn’t want to be with him anymore. A small part of the billionaire worried that John liked the mystery and that if the mystery was removed he’d no longer be interested. As Nathan had said to him once, mystery was a powerful aphrodisiac.

Harold pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache which was threatening. His mind strayed to the idea he’d been avoiding for the last few hours. He needed to speak to Charles. As much as he was loathe to see the man again, it was the quickest and simplest way to get more information. And, afterwards, he would tell John.

**********************************************************************  
Chapter 2

John watched Harold through the zoom lens of his camera. The ex-operative had been tailing his partner since he’d left the library, supposedly on a hardware run. Harold had been acting strangely since that morning and John wanted to know why. He’d tried to get more information out of Harold, to no avail, so he’d resorted to following him. 

As John watched, a man approached Harold and stopped at his table. The stranger was tall, maybe a fraction shorter than Reese, and he had brown hair going grey at the temples. Reese estimated his age to be in his late fifties or early sixties. The man’s strong, handsome face was marred by a supercilious smirk as he addressed Harold. Harold appeared as uneasy as John had ever seen him, tension around his eyes, fingers gripping tightly around his cup. He couldn’t hear what was being said but he’d come prepared. He raised his parabolic microphone and faced it towards Harold’s table as the man sat down across from the billionaire.

“I had hoped our paths would never cross again Mr Sutherland, but circumstances necessitated this meeting. Believe me, I’d rather not be here. ” John heard Harold say.

“Why Harry, I’m hurt.” Sutherland’s mocking tone set Reese’s teeth on edge. “Don’t you miss me? I miss all the fun we had.” John wanted to smack the guy around a bit, take the leer off his face.

“I don’t recall a lot of fun Charles - quite the opposite.” Harold responded. Charles Sutherland. John mentally catalogued the name for later. “But I’m not here to reminisce about less than happy times. I’m here to discuss another matter with you.”

“What would we have to discuss?” The man challenged suspiciously, all signs of his flirtatious behaviour gone. “You tried to ruin my life.” 

“You did that all on your own. Anyway, you don’t seem to be suffering too much, Charles. You run a successful IT consultancy business and rent a spacious loft apartment on the East Side.” Harold said wryly.

Sutherland’s leer returned but this time it had a dangerous quality. “You seem to be very interested in my life Harold. But then you always did have a thing for me, didn’t you?” John gritted his teeth at the man’s tone and gripped the microphone harder.

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less about your life, but I do care about the lives of others. I know about the work you’ve been doing, about the people you’ve been doing it for. ”

“What do you know about my business? Charles shouted, his chair tipping over as he leapt to his feet.

John prepared to intervene. He didn’t like the way this guy was acting. It was unlikely things would get physical on a busy sidewalk in the middle of the day, but he wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

“Calm down Charles and I’ll explain.” To an outsider, Harold appeared unruffled but John could see he was anything but relaxed. Reese desperately wanted to step in but reluctantly held his ground.

Charles grudgingly picked up his chair and sat back down, staring daggers at Harold.

“I’m not in a position to reveal my sources, but it’s come to my attention that you’ve gotten involved with some rather unsavoury people. I don’t have all the details, but I suspect you know exactly what I’m talking about. Whatever you’re involved in Charles, you should walk away.” Harold explained. 

“Even if that were true, what’s it got to do with you?” Charles asked defensively.

“I’m just a concerned third party. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” 

“Are you threatening me?” Charles’ tone was full of menace as he reached over to grab Harold’s wrist in a tight grip.

“No…no, of course not. I’m trying to help you…” Harold floundered, wincing at the pain in his wrist. 

John was on the move before he had chance to think, coming around behind Sutherland, hand resting on his holstered weapon.

“I suggest you let go of his wrist before I break your fucking arm.” John breathed into Sutherland’s ear as he placed his hand heavily on Sutherland’s shoulder. The man yelled in shock and dropped Finch’s wrist like a hot coal. He tried to look behind him to see who was there, but the hand on his shoulder held him firmly in place.

“Who the fuck are you?” he challenged.

“I’m a friend of Harold’s.” John explained in a calm, inflectionless tone as he dragged over a third chair and sat down, placing himself between Charles and Harold. “Now, I think Harold was explaining how he’s trying to help you. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve helping, but Harold’s a lot more soft-hearted than me, so I suggest you listen.” 

“Why would you, of all people, want to help me?” Charles sneered at Harold. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t want anything to do with me.” 

Harold regained his composure. “As I said, Charles, I don’t really care what happens to you. However, I am concerned about the collateral damage you might wreak with whatever you’re involved in.”

“You sanctimonious bastard-” Charles spat out before he caught sight of Reese’s stone cold expression. “You always thought you were better than everybody else, didn’t you?”

“This has nothing to do with the past. I’m trying to help you before you or someone else gets hurt.” Harold tried again.

“Well I’m not interested in your help Harold.” Charles stood up abruptly, “Stay away from me, or else. That goes for your guard dog as well” Charles glanced warily at Reese before he turned on his heel and walked quickly away.

“I think you have some explaining to do Finch.” Reese escorted Harold to his vehicle and handed him into the back seat. This was the second time Finch had hidden a number from John and the second time John had intervened whilst Harold was attempting to deal with the situation alone. It was unacceptable and John was going to make sure that Harold understood that.

They travelled back to the loft in silence, and John considered what he knew. Charles Sutherland was obviously a number but, more to the point, he had a history with Harold, a not very pleasant history from what he could tell. He didn’t like the way Sutherland had spoken to Harold, with that patronising, almost flirtatious tone at first, shifting to something far darker and aggressive. They were clearly adversaries now but had they always been? Sutherland had mentioned that Harold had tried to ruin his life and Harold didn’t deny it. 

Harold had shared so little of his past with Reese, it was unlikely he’d volunteer much information now but, if they were going to help their latest number, Harold would have to tell John something and John was damn sure going to try and find out everything he could. 

When they arrived back at the library, he waited for Harold to brew himself a cup of Earl Grey tea and settle into his usual chair.

“So, what’s going on Harold?” he asked quietly as he sat himself in a second chair across from Finch.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you…it’s just…” Harold struggled for words.

“Yes you should have. So tell me now.” John said simply.

Harold launched into his standard briefing mode. “We received a new number this morning – Charles Sutherland - unmarried, no children. He set up his own IT consultancy business a few years ago which appears to be a profitable enterprise-“

“- How do you know him Finch?” John interrupted.

Harold sighed and gazed into his mug, as if the answers were apparent within the golden depths. “As you know, I attended MIT as an undergraduate” he explained, “Charles Sutherland attended MIT at the same time.”

“Were you friends?”

Harold snorted. “As I’m sure you can imagine,” he said wryly, “I was not one of the more popular kids. I was rather studious and found social interaction quite difficult. Charles on the other hand was Mr Popularity. He came from a wealthy family, was suave and good-looking and had effortless charm. And what he lacked in academic ability, he made up for in guile.”

“So, how did your paths cross?”

“Well, as I mentioned, Charles was not the most intelligent student ever to cross the threshold of MIT. He was a competent programmer but was never going to set the world on fire. But that didn’t matter to him – he was used to being able to buy himself whatever he wanted. He recognised quite early on that I had a talent for programming. He latched on to me, befriended me and, for a while, I was flattered by his attention. I didn’t realise at first that he was using me, that he thought he could buy me just like he bought everyone else.”

John felt a prickle of unease crawl up his spine. “What happened?” 

“I don’t really wish to open up that Pandora’s box today. Suffice it to say, Sutherland was not happy when I refused to help him. He wasn’t used to rejection, especially by geeks like me, and he made my life quite unpleasant¬ after that.”

“What did he do?” John demanded, his tone dangerous.

“Please, John...I don’t want to talk about it, and it all happened a very long time ago. Anyway, it resolved itself eventually.”

John stood, on edge, no longer able to sit, and paced across the room.

“So what did Sutherland mean when he said that you tried to ruin his life? It sounds to me like he’s the guilty party here.”

“I’m ashamed to say that he’s right. Sutherland had been cheating his way through school by buying papers and fixing results. After he tried to get me to help him, I started to collate evidence of his duplicity, just in case I’d need it. One thing led to another and eventually I felt I had no option but to use the evidence I’d collected and report him to the Dean. He was expelled without ever receiving his degree.”

“He only has himself to blame, Harold. He was a liar and a cheat as well as a bully.”

“I know.” Harold said quietly, lost in reflection.

John knew there was a lot more to the story than Harold had told him but he wasn’t going to get any more out of him for now. He would have to bide his time and be patient. That was okay, John could be a very patient man when he needed to be. But he would find out the rest and, if Sutherland had hurt Harold, as far as he was concerned, all bets were off. 

“So now Sutherland is our latest number and we have to protect this son-of-a-bitch?” John asked. “I say we leave him to his own devices.”

“Whilst I might share a little of your sentiment, John, at this point we don’t know if Charles is the victim or the perpetrator. Knowing his inclination towards less than honest endeavours, I did a bit of digging into his background earlier. It would appear that his consultancy business has more than a few disreputable clients.”

“What’s he doing for those clients?”

“From what I can tell, he’s making use of the skills he honed whilst at MIT. He seems to be in the business of evidence tampering, erasing or changing damning computer files, and the like. He gets paid quite handsomely for it.” 

“So he’s party to information that his clients would want to keep buried. That’s motive to want him dead.”

“Indeed.”

“So, what was your plan Finch, when you went to see him?”

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t really thought it through. I guess I thought if I could meet him, I could warn him and get him to let me help.”

“And how exactly were you going to help?”

“I hadn’t got that far…”

John rapidly worked through his options as he continued to pace. Sutherland had seen his face so that ruled out any sort of undercover operation. He could get Detective Fusco to tail him. That was an attractive proposition because it would mean John wouldn’t have to be in the vicinity of Sutherland. He wasn’t sure at this point whether he’d be able to keep his cool if he saw the bastard. But he couldn’t sit around and do nothing. 

“Right, I’ll watch Sutherland. You see if you can find out any more information.” 

“It might be easier if I tried to talk to Charles again, see if I can find out more information, maybe get-”

“No!” John all but shouted as he turned to face Finch. “Stay away from him. I don’t want you anywhere near the bastard.” He stepped close to the billionaire and leaned over, his hands resting on the arms of the chair, “I won’t let him hurt you again.” He looked deeply into Harold’s crystal blue eyes as he made the pledge. “And, Harold? I will find out what he did to you.” Harold’s eyes widened in acknowledgement.

****************************************************************  
“It’s 6pm Finch. I think Sutherland’s on his way home.” Harold heard John through the speaker of his cell phone. Reese had been following Charles all afternoon whilst Harold had been at the library digging deeper into their latest subject. John had blue-jacked Sutherland’s phone so they’d both been able to listen in on him. But, so far, nothing untoward had happened. Sutherland had met with some business contacts and made numerous phone calls but it all appeared to be legitimate.

“Hang on, Finch, it looks as though he’s taking a detour. He’s stopped off at the Flea and Firkin.” John informed him. “Good job I could do with a drink.”

“Be careful John” Harold warned. He knew John was an expert at covert surveillance and would be able to monitor their target better from within the pub rather than remaining outside, but that didn’t stop Harold from worrying. 

“Okay, Sutherland’s at a table in the corner. I can get a good view from the bar without being too visible. He’s got a drink but I think he’s here for more than just an after-work tipple. It looks like he’s waiting for someone. He keeps looking round and he seems on edge.”

Harold smiled to himself. Not only was John excellent at surveillance, he also had impressive observational skills. In fact, there was a lot about John Reese that was impressive. Harold had been drawn to the former CIA operative from the start. Of course, he was ruggedly good-looking but it was more than that. Despite everything he’d experienced, everything he’d had to do, John Reese had an innate decency which neither the army nor the CIA had managed to eradicate. He was a champion for those who couldn’t fight for themselves. He was a genuine, honest-to-god knight in not-so-shining, slightly jaded, armour. 

“Someone’s just joined him - someone who apparently needs a lot of protection.” John reported. “Whoever this new guy is, he’s got a couple of side-kicks and I don’t think he keeps them around for their witty conversational skills.”

Harold listened in as Charles greeted his new companion.

“Good to see you Tony. Have a seat.” Charles sounded confident and relaxed to Harold’s ears but, knowing what John had said about him seeming nervous, the chances were, it was a façade.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re playing at Sutherland, but I don’t like being jerked around.” Tony sounded angry and aggressive. Whoever he was, he was not a happy man.

“Calm down and have a drink with me. We can discuss the new arrangements.”

“As far as I’m concerned, there are no new arrangements. We had a deal.” 

“Ah yes, Tony, but that was before I realised what was on the email. Now I know why you’re so anxious to see it, I understand its true worth. You and I both know it’s worth double what we agreed.”

“You god-damn son-of-a-bitch! Do you know who you’re messing with?” Tony’s voice dripped with menace.

“Of course I do. I also know that, until you get the file, there’s nothing you can do. Give me one hundred thousand and the file’s yours.” 

There was a long pause and for a moment Harold thought they’d lost the connection. Suddenly, he heard a loud bang, “I’ll be in touch to make the arrangements.” 

“I knew we’d come to an understanding.” Charles’s self-satisfied tone filtered through the speaker.

“You won’t get away with this Sutherland.”

John’s soft voice cut in over the line. “Tony and his goons have gone. I’ve sent you a picture to see if you can identify who Tony is. I think we might have found our threat, Harold.”

“I agree. It would appear that Charles is trying to extort more money out of one of his clients. He always was unscrupulous and he doesn’t appear to have changed.”

Harold received the picture John sent through and pulled it up onto his computer screen. He was about to run a facial recognition programme when he realised he didn’t need to. He knew who Tony was.

**********************************************************************  
Chapter 3

“So, Tony is Anthony Jardine, brother of Christian Jardine.” Harold explained to Reese when he returned to the library, leaving Detective Fusco to watch over their subject for a few hours.

“Christian Jardine who runs Jardine Shipping? That Jardine?” John asked, incredulously, glancing at the picture of Tony Jardine that Finch had stuck up on the glass screen before turning his attention back to Harold. “The same Jardine who’s suspected of being one of New York’s biggest gun-runners?”

Harold nodded. “Jesus, Finch. Sutherland either has a death wish or he really is stupid if he thinks he can blackmail Tony Jardine and get away with it.”

“Charles always did have lofty ambitions.” Harold said wryly.

“Well, I think we know where the threat is coming from. The question is, what do we do about it?” John asked, ambling back towards Harold’s desk.

“We could try and persuade Charles to go back to his original deal.” Harold suggested.

“I think it’s too late for that, Harold. The die’s been cast and Tony will want to make an example of Sutherland. We might just have to stop Tony in the act.” 

“I certainly hope that’s not the case, John. It sounds messy.” Harold was only half joking.

John gave him a quirky smile and rested a hand on his shoulder, something he often did when they were working together in the library. It was their way of giving and receiving comfort, touching base and grounding each other. “Harold,” he tutted, “you’ve been sitting at the computer too long again. You’re a bag of knots.” 

Since his cervical fusion surgery a few years ago, Harold often suffered from neck and shoulder pain and it always worsened if he spent long hours working without taking a break. To make matters worse, ever since Harold had learned the identity of their latest number, he’d been on edge and tense and that had inevitably made his pain more severe.

John moved behind him and started gently rubbing his neck and shoulders, kneading at the hard knots which had formed within the muscles. Harold sighed as he felt the tension ease a little. “You need to take better care of yourself.” John admonished softly.

“I know. I just get so involved that I forget to take a break… oh, right there.” Finch groaned as John located and released a particularly tight knot. John’s talented fingers continued to work on Harold’s upper back, neck and shoulders, releasing the tightness with a magic touch. Harold loved John’s hands. They could be gentle and soothing, taking care of his hurts; they could be sensuous and talented, setting his nerve-endings alight; or they could be capable and strong, field-stripping a weapon in a matter of seconds. They could kill and they could heal. Just like the man himself.

Harold closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling of warmth and comfort at his lover’s touch. He’d always been attracted to men, although his experience with either sex was limited. When he was at university, he’d been drawn to Charles, with his good looks and charm, but he’d never felt anything more than a youthful crush. He’d loved Nathan, had lost his virginity to him, but it was a comfortable, safe sort of love. They’d always been more like friends-with-benefits than lovers. It was the same with Grace. Whilst he’d loved her dearly, would always love her, he was never passionate about her. Now he was with John and it was as if he’d finally found the missing jigsaw pieces of his life. John completed him. He felt such profound love for the man, it sometimes took his breath away. 

Overwhelmed with the strength of his feelings, he swiftly swung his chair around and grasped John tightly around the waist, resting his head on John’s stomach. John, standing between his knees, pulled Harold in and stroked his hair soothingly. “Hey, what’s all this?” he sounded concerned.

“Nothing...” Harold looked up to meet John’s warm gaze. “It’s just….I love you. You know that don’t you?”

“I know that Harold.” John leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Harold’s upturned lips. “And I love you too. Now, what’s brought this on? Is it to do with Sutherland?”

“No… yes… not really. I must admit, seeing him again has brought back some memories that I thought I’d buried a long time ago.”

“Are you ready to talk about it yet?”

“Not yet, but soon.”

John bent to kiss him again, lingering longer this time and Harold deepened the kiss, tilting his head as much as he could to get a better angle. He stroked his tongue along the seam of John’s lips and they parted, beckoning him in. John framed his face between his hands as their tongues twined around each other. Waves of arousal throbbed through Harold’s body, settling at his groin, making him breathless with desire. He broke free of the enticing depths of John’s mouth. “Undo your pants,” he huffed.

John was compelled to comply and unbuttoned his suit trousers before pulling down the zip slowly, never taking his eyes from Harold. He reached inside and pulled out his cock, already half hard. Harold pushed his hands out of the way. The billionaire slowly traced one graceful finger around the head and it twitched and thickened in response. Harold leaned forward and licked a stripe up his length, delighting at the sweet, salty taste of his lover. 

“Oh God…” John moaned, still watching intently. Harold smiled up at John, enjoying teasing the younger man, knowing what it did to him seeing Harold like this. He took a few more licks before taking John’s beautiful erection into his mouth, his hand gripping the base so that all of John was sheathed. John made an inarticulate sound as he cradled the older man’s head, fingers brushing through his fine hair. Harold settled into a comfortable rhythm, hand and mouth moving in time as they milked John’s cock, John’s hips thrusting involuntarily to the tempo he set. 

Harold glanced up. John was still watching him but his eyes were glazed and unfocussed, his face radiant. Harold felt a surge of protectiveness for his lover. John was a man with many walls and barriers and he rarely let them drop. But, right now, at this moment, John was as unguarded and open, as vulnerable, as Harold had ever seen him. He’d relinquished control to Harold in the ultimate demonstration of trust and Harold, as the custodian of John’s heart, was determined to shield him from harm.

Harold picked up his tempo as he felt an increased urgency in John’s thrusts. “Harold!” John called out in warning before shooting his seed into his waiting mouth. Harold wiped at his lips delicately with his pocket square before giving Reese a self-satisfied smile. 

*********************************************************************  
The roads were quiet at that indeterminate time between middle-of-the-night and dawn. Late night revellers had gone home or found parties elsewhere. Early morning commuters had yet to be rudely awoken by their alarms. All those left on the street at this hour had no business being there, including John. Reese liked this time of night, though. It was quiet and he could hide in the shadows, unheeded and unmolested. 

He wondered whether Harold was awake or whether he was tucked up, fast asleep in bed. Harold had confessed to John that he slept poorly when Reese was working but John hoped he was sleeping. The last few days had been difficult for the older man. Although he hadn’t told John much about his history with Sutherland, he’d obviously been shaken by seeing the man again. John clenched his jaw at the thought. Whatever had taken place all those years ago, he was determined to find out and, if necessary, make Sutherland pay for his crimes. In the meantime, he would protect Harold and keep him sheltered from having to deal with the bastard.

He took a sip of his coffee which had long gone cold and continued his vigil. Charles Sutherland’s apartment had been quiet all night, its occupant undisturbed, but John knew he couldn’t be complacent. 

The sky lightened with the first glimmers of dawn and the city started to waken. John stretched and sat up taller in his seat. He would follow Sutherland to work and then leave Fusco to watch him while he grabbed a few hours rest. As he was considering giving Finch an early morning call, a dark town car pull up outside Sutherland’s apartment and two men exited the vehicle. The men were unremarkable but something about them set alarm bells ringing. They appeared cautious, taking more interest in their surroundings than normal. John slouched down in his seat to avoid discovery as they looked around before approaching the front of the building. He wasn’t sure whether they knew the entry code or had some sort of ruse to gain entry, but the door opened and they passed through unchallenged. 

John felt the adrenalin surge through his veins as he checked the clip of his weapon and left his car. He stealthily made his way to the building, debating whether to call Finch or not. He decided that he’d wait until he had more information. It didn’t take long for him to pick the woefully inadequate lock. There were twenty apartments in the building and Sutherland’s was on the top floor. He bypassed the elevator - it was too easy to get cornered in an elevator with no immediate means of egress - and quickly and quietly ascended the stairs to the sixth floor.

As he entered the hallway, he could see that Sutherland’s loft door was ajar and there were sounds of a scuffle coming from within. He readied his weapon and pushed open the door. In the large living room one of the intruders was struggling with a striking blond man John didn’t recognise. Sutherland was nowhere to be seen so John left the two men fighting and went in search of his quarry.

The apartment was dimly lit, the dawn light softly filtering through the shades on the windows. But it was enough for John to see where he was going as he moved down a hallway towards what he assumed was the bedroom. As he crossed the threshold, he saw Sutherland horizontal on the bed bucking and writhing wildly. The second intruder was bent over him, hands wrapped around his throat unaware of John’s entrance. 

For a moment John paused before he sprang into action. He tore the intruder’s hands from Sutherland’s throat and spun him around, striking hard at his windpipe as he did. The intruder crumpled to the floor.

John glanced down at the prone form of Charles Sutherland. “I believe I owe you my life” the man gasped, his tone full of awe. Before John could respond, he felt a jolt and a sharp pain at the back of his head. Suddenly he was falling, his dazed and confused mind trying to make sense of what was happening. His vision greyed as he hit the ground hard. ‘Sorry Harold’ he thought before he slipped into oblivion.

**********************************************************************  
The dawn light cast ghostly shadows on the ceiling. Harold lay on his back and watched as ghoulish shapes stretched towards him, dark omens of misfortune. He shuddered at his gloomy thoughts, wondering what had triggered such depressing imagery in his mind. It was most likely due to the deep fatigue which had settled in his bones. Despite his tiredness, he’d lain awake most of the night, plagued by his memories and worried about John.

The clock read just shy of six am as he rose and hobbled to the bathroom. Once he’d washed and dressed, he boiled the water for his morning tea and considered checking in with Reese. John had been watching Charles all night and it was time for him to get some rest. The billionaire wondered whether he could persuade his partner to let him take over for a while so that John could get some sleep. He didn’t think John would accept the offer, reluctant as he was to let Harold near his former classmate.

He dialled John’s number, eagerly anticipating the sound of his lover’s soft, lyrical voice. Harold frowned, disturbed as the phone rang out with no response. It wasn’t like John not to answer his phone, especially when it was Harold calling, unless he was in trouble.

Finch quickly logged into his computer and checked the GPS signal of John’s phone. It was on the move, travelling north on Third Avenue. If John was following Charles then he was going in the opposite direction to Charles’s office. As Harold tracked the phone’s signal, it suddenly disappeared from the screen, snuffed out of existence, and Harold gasped in horror.

He debated internally what he should do. He might be over-reacting but his instincts told him that he wasn’t, that his lover was in trouble. Bear whined and looked up at him with sad brown eyes, obviously sensing his master’s distress. “It’s okay Bear” he placated absently as his mind raced through his options. “Let’s call Detective Carter.” 

Detective Joss Carter answered her phone after only a few rings, despite the early hour. “Morning Finch.” 

“I think John’s in trouble.” Harold said by way of greeting before explaining the situation.

“I’ll go down to Sutherland’s apartment and see if there’re any clues there. You keep trying his phone. Does this guy have any other property?” Carter asked, her quick mind hard at work on the problem.

“Other than his office downtown, nothing that I’m aware of but I’ll do a wider search, check family members and corporate holdings.”

“Don’t worry Finch, John can take care of himself.” Carter reassured Harold before disconnecting the call.

************************************************************************  
John groaned and rolled over onto his back. Why did his bed feel so hard? And why was his head throbbing like someone was squeezing his skull in a vice? He didn’t remember having a lot to drink last night. He opened his eyes and shut them again quickly, the light stabbing into his brain like a hot poker. He opened them again, more gingerly, squinting to acclimate himself. He was looking at a steel roof twenty feet above his head rather than the ceiling of his loft. Okay, so not a hangover then. Awareness started to creep in and he remembered saving Sutherland, a blow to the back of his head and then nothing. 

John ran through his mental checklist. What does he know, what does he have, what does he need. 

He rolled his head round to the right, as slowly as the pounding would allow. He was in what appeared to be a warehouse of some sort. He rolled his head the other way. There were two entrances that he could see, a door on the far wall to his right and a large shutter door to his left. 

Cataloguing himself for injuries, he didn’t find anything too debilitating. The throbbing pain in his head probably boded a mild concussion but nothing serious. His fingers and toes were all moving and he didn’t feel any significant discomfort. Okay, so no major injuries to restrict him. This improved his chances significantly Reese thought as he brought himself into a sitting position.

Less helpful was the manacle fixed tightly around his left ankle which was attached to a heavy foot-long chain which, in turn, was bolted to the floor. John gave it a good tug but it felt secure. He wasn’t getting out of it without bolt cutters, a key or a decent lock pick. He went through his pockets optimistically, but he’d obviously been thoroughly searched and nothing had been left behind which would help him. 

He considered what he knew and who might be responsible for his current predicament. He’d been ambushed in Sutherland’s apartment and the only people who’d been in the apartment were Sutherland, the blond man he’d seen grappling with one of the intruders, and the two intruders. The chances were, one of them was responsible. 

John’s thoughts were interrupted as the door to his right opened. He stood up and turned to face Charles Sutherland as he swaggered in, followed by two men, the blond from his apartment and a large, well-built man who was probably Sutherland’s muscle.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Harold’s ‘friend’.” Sutherland said with a self-satisfied smirk, miming inverted commas in the air at the word ‘friend’. “Imagine my surprise when you appeared in my bedroom and saved me. It’s a good job Sergei here intervened when he did. Now I have the opportunity to find out why. I assume it has something to do with Harold.”

Reese said nothing as he stared unflinchingly into Sutherland’s eyes, his face an impassive, emotionless mask. Sutherland, who had stopped a safe distance away from John, shuffled uncomfortably under Reese’s gaze, despite his obvious advantage.

“Maybe you should tell me your name and then I don’t have to keep calling you Harold’s friend.”

“John Smith.” John responded tonelessly. 

Sutherland laughed. “Of course it is!” he said ironically. “Well, John, I would very much like to know why you and Harold are so interested in me?”

John raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Sutherland flicked his wrist and his henceman stepped forward, fist clenched ready to strike. Before the man had finished his back-swing, John took him down with a swift kick to his knee and a punch to his windpipe. As the goon lay on the floor gasping for breath, John followed him down, snatched the chain locked to his ankle and wrapped it around the man’s neck. He smiled up at Sutherland who was standing, wide-eyed and impotent.

The other man, Sergei, was more prepared and before John could extricate himself he’d pressed a Taser against his side. John felt the jolts of electricity surge through his body, every muscle helplessly in spasm. He watched, unable to move, as the butt of Sergei’s gun descended towards him and once again he slipped into unconsciousness.

****************************************************************************  
Harold’s cell phone sprang to life, skating across his desk at the library as it vibrated urgently. The screen identified the caller as John Reese. Harold’s heart leapt into his mouth and for a moment he was unable to move, frozen in a paradoxical mix of fear and relief, before breaking the spell. 

“John?” he answered in trepidation.

“Hello Harold.” Charles Sutherland’s oily voice dripped through the connection.

“Charles, what’s going on? Why do you have John’s phone? If you’ve hurt him¬-”

“- Don’t worry Harry,” Charles interrupted, “he’s fine…for the moment. Whether he stays that way is up to you.” 

“What do you want?” Harold whispered.

“Well, John and I are having such a lovely time I thought it would be nice for you to join us. We could talk about the good old days.”

“There were no good old days Charles.”

Sutherland’s voice hardened. “If you want to see John, be at my apartment in forty five minutes, alone. If you’re not alone or if you try anything clever, you’ll never see him again.”

Harold checked his watch. Three quarters of an hour to get to Charles’s apartment didn’t give him long to put a plan into action.

****************************************************************************  
Chapter 4

When John regained consciousness a second time, he was in the same place. This time, though, rather than his ankle being manacled and chained to the floor, both wrists were manacled and he was suspended by a long chain hanging from the ceiling, his feet barely touching the ground. He glanced around and saw a table and fours chairs placed ten feet away from him. Seated in one of the chairs was Sergei, playing what appeared to be a video game on a tablet computer.

After what felt like about an hour of uneasy silence, Sutherland entered the room. “Ahh, good you’re awake. Just in time.” Sutherland gave him a friendly smile as if they were sharing a companionable afternoon in a bar.

“Just in time for what?” John asked despite himself.

“We’re going to have some company shortly.”

John’s face gave nothing away as he considered who might be joining them. The chances are it would be some more of Sutherland’s goons, ready to work him over for information. John could handle that. He’d faced far worse than a bunch of bully-boys trying to extract information in their clumsy, artless ways.

Sutherland’s cell phone chirped and he looked down at it expectantly. “Well, it looks like our guest had arrived. I’ll go and play host, shall I?”

Reese felt a prickle of unease. “Who’s here Sutherland?”

“Oh don’t fret, John, it’s a mutual friend of ours.” Sutherland promised as he and Sergei both left the room.

John’s unease turned to fear. It couldn’t be…surely he wouldn’t have done anything so stupid and dangerous?

John looked up as the door opened and all his fears were realised.

***********************************************************************  
The man who’d picked Harold up at Sutherland’s apartment was the grumpy, silent type Harold concluded, mentally naming him Conan. After thoroughly searching the smaller man and removing his phone, he’d tied Harold’s hands securely behind his back and ordered him into the car. He’d not spoken during the thirty minute drive to Queens.

When they arrived at a non-descript warehouse, Conan pulled Finch roughly from the vehicle. Harold noticed a large bruise spanning the man’s throat and wondered whether John had anything to do with it. No doubt he’d fought back. It might also explain Conan’s bad mood Harold thought, shivering in the damp drizzle.

They were met at the entrance by Sutherland and a blond-haired man, smaller in build than Conan but with an unflinching glower on his face which made Harold shudder. Despite his less obvious physicality, Harold suspected that the blond might be more of a threat to them than Conan.

“Where’s John?” he asked, without waiting for a greeting.

“My, you are eager aren’t you?” Charles’s voice grated on Harold’s fraying nerves. “Come along then.” 

Harold was led by the three men into a large cavernous space. What he saw at the other side of the door made his stomach clench. John’s raised arms were held firmly by chains attached to the ceiling. He had a large bruise on one cheekbone. “John…” Their eyes met and Harold was taken aback by what he saw. Shock then anger followed by pure, unadulterated fear fleeted across the ex-operative’s face before he visibly clamped it down, leaving a blank, indecipherable expression. He said nothing.

Harold was led over to one of the chairs next to a square wooden table placed a short distance away from John, and his hands were untied before being re-secured to the arms of the chair. Sutherland twisted the chair around, away from the table until Harold had John to his left and the table to his right. Sutherland then placed a second chair directly in front of him and sat down, leaving Blondie and Conan to hover near the door.

“It’s good to see you again Harry.” Sutherland smiled as he pulled a gun out of the waistband of his trousers and placed it on the table. 

Harold said nothing, unwilling to give anything away. He’d always been prepared to suffer, to die, to protect his secret. No one could know about the machine, it was too dangerous. He might not care much for Charles but he wouldn’t put Charles’s life at risk by telling him about the machine. 

What Harold hadn’t been prepared for was having John there. Would he be able to watch John suffer and still stay quiet? For the sake of others he had to, but for the sake of himself, he didn’t think he could. Harold had to make sure that Charles’s attention remained on him and not on John.

“You know, Harold,” Charles said conversationally, “Sergei over there is quite jealous of you.” Charles gestured towards the blond. “He knows you and I have a past. He thinks you’re trying to steal me away from him!” he sounded delighted at the thought of Harold and Sergei fighting over him. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”

“You can assure Sergei that he has nothing to worry about. He’s welcome to you.” Harold said, disgusted. Before Harold could flinch, Charles’s hand shot out and slapped him hard across the cheek. The sting of it made his eyes water but he refused to give Charles the satisfaction of a reaction. He heard John’s chains rattle in protest but he too remained silent. He glanced over at his lover. John’s focus was on Sutherland and his face radiated pure hatred as he pulled at his chains.

“Do you remember how you used to follow me around like a puppy, so eager to please?” Charles continued as if nothing had happened. “I didn’t realise it at first but you wanted me so badly didn’t you? You’d have dropped your pants and bent over for me if I’d have asked you to.”

Harold looked down, embarrassed. He knew Charles was just trying to taunt him but it was too close to the truth for comfort. He had been attracted to Charles and was flattered when Charles had given him any sort of attention. He’d never slept with a man but was curious and probably would’ve accepted if Charles had offered to take his virginity. Thank God he never offered.

Harold could hear the shuffling of feet behind him and assumed it was Sergei, obviously unhappy at what he was hearing. He looked over at John again. The former operative’s eyes were closed and he was unnaturally still, frozen like a statue. He’s probably disgusted at me, Harold thought sadly, wondering if John would still want him when this was all over, if they got out of it alive.

“But then you betrayed me.” Charles sounded sad. 

“You nearly killed me!” Harold protested and could see John’s head jerk upwards out of the corner of his eye. “I was in the hospital for weeks.”

“It was an accident. I was mad at you for refusing to help me.”

“Yes well, after that, I’m sure you must understand why I did what I did.”

“No I don’t! I was thrown out of school, damn well nearly arrested. You ruined everything!” Charles stood fitfully and paced across the room, clearly agitated. Harold kept quiet as he paced.

Charles brought himself under control, his mask of complacency dropping back into place as he sat down.

“Where were we?” he smiled.

“Why are we here Charles?” Harold asked wearily.

“I want to know why you and your friend have been interfering in my business.”

“I told you, we had reason to believe that someone was going to get hurt. We’ve been trying to help you.”

“I need to know where you got your information and how much you know.”

“For one thing, I know that you tried to double-cross Tony Jardine-”

“- How the fuck do you know that? Have you been following me?” Charles surged out of his seat once again, unable to maintain his calm.

“It doesn’t matter how I know it, just that I do.” Harold said simply. 

A moment later, Charles growled and stormed towards the door, gesturing for Conan to stand guard as he exited with Sergei in tow.

****************************************************************  
“John, are you okay?” Harold asked him after Sutherland left the room.

“I’m fine Harold” he reassured trying not to give anything away. Sutherland’s goon was still standing at the door and, although he hadn’t seen any cameras, that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched.

Harold was looking at him with a mixture of concern and relief and John ran his eyes over his partner, checking for obvious injuries. He appeared unhurt and John breathed a sigh of relief. He just had to make sure that he stayed that way.

He pulled at his chains in frustration. He had to get Harold out of here. He couldn’t believe his partner had come, it was reckless and foolish and John was going to have serious words with him if, no when, they got out of this. Harold was an exceptionally clever man; he wouldn’t have come here without putting some sort of plan in place. So, all they had to do was wait for rescue. He only hoped rescue wasn’t going to take too long.

Sutherland was dangerous. Not only did he have the wherewithal and resources to kidnap them both, he also appeared slightly unhinged and John knew from experience that an irrational man was much harder to reason with than a sane one. He also seemed to have an alarming fixation on Harold which worried the former operative.

He’d been shocked when Harold had accused Sutherland of nearly killing him. And Sutherland hadn’t denied it. The thought made John nauseous. He clenched his fists, which were rapidly growing numb from their position above his head, and contemplated the hurt he could dispense on Sutherland. 

Harold and John waited from their respective positions. Their eyes met and locked on to each other, privately communicating their feelings in silence, words not necessary. John tried to convey love and reassurance to the man who’d become his entire world, wordlessly pledging to protect him to the death if necessary.

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than ten minutes or so, Sutherland and his friend returned. Sutherland was carrying a Swiss army knife and Sergei’s face was split with a menacing smile. John tensed, primed for action even though there was little he could do, strung up as he was like a lamb in a slaughter house.

Charles, his composure fully restored, appeared confident as he returned to his seat opposite Harold and placed the knife on the table next to the gun. “Shall we try again? Tell me what you know.”

“I’ve told you everything I know. There is nothing more.” Harold protested.

“Maybe your handsome friend will be more helpful.” Charles picked up the knife again and sauntered over to John.

“I wouldn’t count on it.” The billionaire said, trying to appear nonchalant. John could see the strain around Harold’s eyes as he watched his nemesis approach his lover. He saw Harold’s hands clench the arms of his chair tightly as he fought to keep himself under control.

Charles stopped a foot away from John and stared at him intently, as though he could see into his very soul. “Perhaps you’re right” he directed his comment at Harold but didn’t take his eyes away from John’s face. “Whatever you may think of me Harry, I’ve always been very good a reading people. The moment I first encountered your friend, I noticed one thing.” He turned towards Harold. “John obviously cares a great deal about you. I imagine I could tear his finger nails off and he wouldn’t even flinch, but if I did the same to you, I suspect he wouldn’t be quite so cool. Isn’t that so John?” Sutherland twisted back to face Reese.

For a second John’s heart stopped beating as he digested Sutherland’s words before it resumed, pounding double speed, so loud he thought everyone in the room would be able to hear it. No, no, no, this was not happening. That man would touch Harold over his dead body. Unable to restrain himself the look he gave Sutherland was deadly. “You touch him Sutherland and I’ll rip your fucking head off!” he warned, voice dripping with menace as he kicked out with his feet.

Sutherland stepped back quickly to avoid being knocked down. “He speaks!” he crowed triumphantly, wandering back to stand beside Harold, still holding his knife. “So, tell me John, why were you at my loft this morning?”

John stared silently at his enemy. “Oh John,” he tutted, “are you really going to force me to hurt my old friend? That’s such a shame!” 

Harold gazed at his partner intently and, when John finally met his eyes, he gave a furtive shake of his head, telling John to stand down. Didn’t Harold realise that he couldn’t stand down, not from this? The machine, the numbers, everything was irrelevant but Finch. Nothing mattered but keeping his lover safe. 

Sutherland kept his eyes on Reese as he moved behind Harold, hand stroking across the billionaire’s shoulders, taunting them both. The knife in Sutherland’s hand caught the light as he traced it lightly across Harold’s chest, a sick parody of a lover’s caress. John’s gaze narrowed, focussed like a laser on the soon-to-be dead man. Without a second pause, Sutherland moved around to face Finch, grasped his sleeve cuffs and sliced upward with his knife, exposing the billionaire’s forearm. Harold gasped in shock, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

“Don’t you do this Sutherland!” John shouted, all façade of calm gone as he struggled against his chains, pulling at them frantically. The shackles shredded the delicate skin around his wrists but he didn’t notice, too focussed on his lover and the man intent on hurting him.

“John, please stop.” Harold implored before he gasped in pain as Sutherland drew the knife across his arm, leaving a vivid trail of crimson in its wake.

“You son-of-a-bitch!” John screamed, swinging wildly as he tried to free himself “You’re a fucking dead man!” Charles ignored him and cut another stripe across Finch’s arm.

“Tell me what I want to know and all this will stop.” Charles explained, as if talking to a child. “I must say, I am quite enjoying it, however. Harold does bleed so beautifully doesn’t he?” He stroked Finch’s cheek with the hand not holding the knife, brushing his thumb lightly across his lips. John felt sick, he had to make this stop. But what could he say? Sutherland would never believe that they were trying to help him out of the goodness of their hearts. 

“We’re working for one of your clients. He was worried about the information you had on him.” Reese grasped desperately at a plausible explanation.

Sutherland looked pensive, absorbing the information. “Hmm, I don’t believe you.” He concluded before making another cut on Harold’s arm. Harold cried out, no longer able to hold back. The sound cut through John as assuredly as Sutherland’s knife had cut through Harold’s flesh.

“He’s telling you the truth Charles!” Harold gasped. “Stop this. What do you think you’re going to achieve?”

“Well, Harold, apart from finding out what you’re up to, I’m also enjoying a little retribution for everything you put me through. I can see this is getting us nowhere, though. Time to up the stakes a little, I think.” He beckoned Sergei and his henceman over. “Untie him.” He ordered and Harold was untied and forced to his feet by the two goons. “Take off his jacket and shirt.” As Harold was stripped to the waist, John struggled feverishly, cursing and shouting at the men. Harold stood still, outwardly calm, but there was no mistaking the trembling in his hands or the quivering of his legs. John’s heart swelled at his lover’s courage. He was so strong, so brave. But John didn’t want him to be brave, he didn’t want him to have to be brave. He wanted him safe, away from bastards like Charles Sutherland.

“Bring him.” Harold was led over to the table before being viciously forced to bend at the waist, his stomach and chest pushed down, wrists held tightly. His arms were secured to the far legs of the table and his feet were tied to the near side leaving him unable to move, bent over the table with his naked back prone and exposed. 

“Isn’t this what you always wanted Harold?” Sutherland leered, his hand stroking small circles on his bare torso. Sutherland seemed less intent on getting information out of either of them now, and more intent on merely tormenting them for the shear enjoyment of it. John, still pulling fiercely at his bonds, felt a sharp snap and then burning pain in his left shoulder. He must’ve dislocated his shoulder joint, he thought absently, uncaring. He took shallow breaths until the agonising pain subsided, not taking his focus away from his lover.

The brush of leather on fabric sounded abrasive to John’s sensitive ears as Sutherland pulled his belt free from his trousers. Reese’s sense of foreboding intensified. “Please don’t do this” he begged, “take me instead!”

Sutherland ignored him, engrossed in his task. He swung the belt over his shoulder a few times before bringing it down sharply on Harold’s back. A red welt puckered the creamy skin and the billionaire stifled a scream. Sutherland swung again as John resumed his struggle, insensible to the blood running down his arms from his abraded wrists or the grating of his dislocated shoulder. His inability to help his lover, his impotence, tore through his soul and he wailed in sheer anguish. Tears blurred his vision as he howled like a trapped animal. 

******************************************************************  
Harold’s senses were dulled with pain, the deep burn radiating from his torso, the sharp sting in his arm, the pulsating throb in his neck. His surroundings became a blur as his hazy mind sought refuge. But, through the haze, he could hear his lover calling, begging, the sound so unlike John that it triggered an alarm in the back of Harold’s mind, bringing him back from the brink. As he re-focussed, he heard the sound of a door slamming open.

“Freeze, police!” he heard Detective Carter’s commanding voice and his sluggish brain processed the new information. The detective must have tracked down the GPS signal from the small tracking device he’d hidden in the vehicle as he was taken to meet John. 

Sounds of a scuffle ensued and then the loud crack of a gun discharging. Harold, more aware now, tried to look around to see what was happening, but his movements were limited by his position face down over the table.

“Cuff them Fusco” he heard Detective Carter tell her partner, “and check if either of them has the key to those chains.” 

“Here.” Fusco responded, presumably locating a key.

“Thanks. Now get them out of here before….” Carter instructed urgently.

John was yelling something but Harold couldn’t decipher his words. He could hear Fusco swiftly exit the building with his prisoners before Carter let out a deep sigh. Footsteps echoed across the concrete floor and Carter entered Harold’s peripheral vision as she approached John.

“You need to calm down, John, I’m going to get you out of these.” Harold realised then that John was still thrashing wildly against his shackles, seemingly unaware of Carter’s presence, hurting himself. 

“John…” he called weakly and John stopped fighting his bonds, his attention shifting swiftly to Harold. As Carter unlocked the manacles he waited passively, eyes fixed on his partner. 

As soon as he was free, Reese launched himself across the room to his lover. “I’ve got you Harold” he murmured softly as he untied the ropes which restrained him to the table. Once free, Harold felt himself being gently lifted and pulled onto John’s lap. John, seated in one of the chairs, whispered words of comfort as he cradled Harold close to his chest, rocking gently. Harold struggled to comprehend all of John’s words but the quiet susurration lulled him into a trance-like state and he sunk deeper into the warmth of his lover’s arms.

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” Carter broke in quietly.

“No, I’m fine.” Harold reassured her, not moving from his position.

“You are not fine, Harold,” John berated, “but we don’t need an ambulance. I can take care of you.”

“What about your shoulder, John?” 

Harold’s head whipped up at Carter’s question. ”What’s wrong with your shoulder?” he asked, now fully alert.

“Nothing. Think I must have dislocated it though.” It was John’s turn to reassure. “I can pop it back in myself.”

Harold knew it would be futile to protest. You had to learn to choose you battles and this was one he was not going to win. He sighed, glancing around at his surroundings. He was shocked to see Conan lying dead on the ground, a bullet neatly piercing his upper torso, a gun lying a few feet from where he lay. Harold’s discarded clothes were draped over one chair and Sutherland’s belt sat innocuously on the floor nearby. He shuddered as he thought about Sutherland - the man was certifiably insane. It was a good job Fusco and taken him away, he didn’t think John was feeling merciful at the moment. 

“Thank you for your assistance, as always Detective.” Harold said in an attempt to regain his composure.

“You’re welcome Finch.” Carter gave him a sad smile, clearly distressed by the circumstances. “Come on, let’s get you two home.”

A solicitous John helped Harold to his feet before settling his discarded shirt gently over his shoulders, careful not to put too much pressure on his injuries. He then led him out of the warehouse, never letting go of his arm. The movement pulled at Harold’s wounds, waves of pain rolling over his damaged body. Nausea threatened and he took shallow breaths to rein it in, causing his head to spin. He swayed slightly and John took more and more of his weight as they slowly made their way out of the warehouse. When they reached Carter’s car, John lowered him into the back seat and shut the door.

********************************************************************  
Epilogue

John felt the tension pulse inside him, like a beast awakened after long years of hibernation. And the beast was hungry. But it wasn’t food it craved, it was retribution; retribution for the pain and suffering inflicted on the man who was his world. The need gnawed at him, consumed him, refusing to be quelled. 

Carter had told him that Sutherland would be dealt with through the justice system and that John should leave well enough alone. But, as far as John was concerned, it wasn’t enough. He knew Harold wouldn’t want him doling out rough justice like an evil caped crusader, but he wanted blood for what had been done to his lover. 

He brushed a hand over his face wearily and pushed his desire for vengeance to the back of his mind. Right now, he had to take care of Harold. Everything else would come later.

He went to check on his lover, not yet able to have him out of his sight for too long. Harold was still soundly asleep in John’s large bed, lying on his side, pillows supporting his neck and upper body. John had cleansed and dressed Harold’s wounds when they’d returned home yesterday. The cuts on his arm weren’t deep and didn’t need stitches and none of the lashes on his back had broken the skin. Harold would recover fully in time, at least physically. John wasn’t sure yet how bad the mental scars would be, for either of them. No matter what, he would be there for Harold. He wouldn’t fail Harold again. He would cherish and protect him and, when he needed to, he would chase away the demons, both real and imagined. 

As he watched his partner, Harold’s face puckered into a small frown, his sleep becoming more restless. John sat on the bed beside the billionaire. He carded his fingers gently through Harold’s hair and brushed his thumb across the creased forehead as if trying to smooth away the lines of worry. His touch seemed to calm the older man who sighed in his sleep and shifted closer to John’s warm body. As John continued to stroke Harold’s hair and face, his heart swelled. Sometimes it was hard for him to comprehend how important this man had become to him. The thought of losing Finch was a physical pain. John didn’t think he would survive if he lost him.

Harold’s eyes slowly drifted open, unerringly finding and holding John’s gaze. John felt his heart beat faster as their eyes met, silently conveying their feelings to each other. “How’re you feeling?” John broke the silence.

“Better. How about you?” A soft, bittersweet smile played on Harold’s lips.

“I’m fine, Finch, I wasn’t the one who-“

“John...” Harold interrupted him. He reached for John’s hand and his fingers brushed gently over the bandages wrapped around his wrist. He slowly brought John’s hand up and laid his lips softly over the injured area, almost in benediction. John’s breath hitched and he struggled to swallow down the lump in his throat. Harold placed his hand down and picked up the other, bringing that one up to his lips and worshipping it in the same way. It was John’s undoing. “Harold…” he almost sobbed, his voice breaking. 

“Shh…it’s okay John.” Harold pulled John’s head down towards him. John nestled his face into his lover’s neck and wept silent tears of pain and regret.

Harold held John as he released his pent up anguish, stroking his head and back. “Listen to me, John. I know you’re blaming yourself for what happened but this is not your fault.”

John finally lifted his head and looked down at his partner, vision blurred and distorted. Harold leaned in and brushed his lips tenderly over John’s. “We’re both going to be okay” Harold promised. 

********************************************************************  
John was preparing them some dinner whilst Harold cleaned up in the bathroom when he felt his cell phone start to vibrate in his pocket.

“John, how’s Finch?” Joss Carter asked as soon as he answered the call.

“He’s doing better. Listen Carter, I didn’t say thank you yesterday and I should have. We both owe you.”

“That’s what friends are for John.” Carter said simply and Reese’s mouth quirked in a small smile. Cater and Fusco really had become true friends to them.

“John, I’m calling because I have some news.” Carter’s tone changed and she sounded uncomfortable, putting John immediately on his guard. “Charles Sutherland escaped custody this morning. We don’t know where he is.”

John said nothing for a moment, digesting the information. “Thanks for letting me know.” He said brusquely before disconnected the call

He paced restlessly towards the large windows of his loft and gazed out, unseeing. Sutherland was free, his mind replayed over and over in his head, refusing to accept. The man who’d hurt Harold was free and could hurt him again. The gnawing hunger coursed through his veins and burned his skin. The threat would have to be neutralised.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> No beta so all errors are my own.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for their kind feedback on my first story - it's inspired me to write another!
> 
> I've intentionally left some questions unanswered here because I might do a sequel (and/or maybe a prequel), if readers like the story.


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